


Do You Hear that Sound of Silence?

by AnotherWorld3111



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Confrontations, Demons?, Empath Dean Winchester, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Episode: s01e16 Shadow, Episode: s01e20 Dead Man's Blood, Episode: s01e22 Devil's Trap, Episode: s02e10 Hunted, Episode: s02e14 Born Under a Bad Sign, Episode: s03e09 Malleus Maleficarum, Flagstaff is mentioned, Fluff, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt Dean Winchester, Kinda, Post-Stanford, Pre-Stanford, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, Stanford Era, The ship isn't centric, Werewolves, at least id hope it isnt, but dean is involved briefly with an oc, but more on a positive note, canon compliant hellooo lookie all those ep tags??, dw that's not a testimony of how bad my writing is, i guess this kinda has an, its supernatural people cmon, its too late at night right now to figure out tags, so many frigging scene breaks i swear, there's just a bunch of time skips and stuff, uh, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWorld3111/pseuds/AnotherWorld3111
Summary: No one ever told Dean that he wasn’t normal. Which was probably just as well, because when Dean eventually figured it out, he was wise enough to keep silent.Pushing away his own fear, his uncertainty, his worry, Dean shoved them into a dark crevice at the back of his mind. Gently trying to shush his brother, rocking slightly, Dean forced himself to smile.Seconds passed. Staring down at his brother’s misty eyes, he couldn’t help a small smile at the blush that was staining Sammy’s cheeks.Sam blinked, his sobs starting to die down.





	Do You Hear that Sound of Silence?

**Author's Note:**

> tired + sleepy = tired author so please dont expect coherency in the notes unless and until i get back to it maybe  
> but important: many many many thanks to kt, d, and fari forever for helping me grind this difficult pos out... it took me a while (the first 3k was torture because i decided to do it during classes) and i keep forgetting im busies over holidays than when have classes sometime but i sat my ass down today and forced myself to finish this which why late night me sleepy and i lost my train of thought  
> thank you autocorrect but also curse you because y'all know fur sure i aint looking over this right now hell im typing w my eyes closed no lie which oh yea  
> all mistakes my own sorry but did you expect any different from me?

No one ever told Dean that he wasn’t normal. Which was probably just as well, because when Dean eventually figured it out, he was wise enough to keep silent.

It still took him a while, however, to realize things by himself.

At first, at the age of four, standing in front of his childhood home being burnt down, with his baby brother in his arms, Dean’s eyes were glued to the flames dancing out of the window his mom and dad were.

A man appeared at the window, and all Dean could understand was _yellow_ at that moment, before he was gone the moment Dean blinked.

Sam started wailing in his arms.

Looking down, Dean pushed away his own fear, his uncertainty, his worry, shoving them into a dark crevice at the back of his mind. Gently trying to shush his brother, rocking slightly, Dean forced himself to smile.

Seconds passed, Dean desperately trying to ignore the sound of the fire roaring only several feet away from him. Staring down at his brother’s misty eyes, he couldn’t help a small smile at the blush that was staining Sammy’s cheeks.

Sam blinked, his sobs starting to die down. Dean didn’t even have the time to feel triumphant before dad was starting to run out of the house, gathering the two boys in his arms as he guided them further away, just as an explosion rocked the earth under Dean’s feet.

Sam started screaming his lungs out right when terror overwhelmed Dean’s world.

* * *

The next most notable memory that stuck out in Dean’s mind was only a few years after the first incident. Sam had been in a grumpy mood all day, and Dean couldn’t do anything to help, not when he’d been feeling pretty desolate himself. Dad was out on a hunt, and there were still two days more to the day that dad said he’d be back, but Dean missed his dad. He took care of Sam as best as he could, that was his job, Dean knew. But that day, Dean just wanted to be held in someone’s arms himself for a change.

His upset state of mind must have gotten to Sammy, because his brother was as unagreeable as a toddler could be. From crying to screaming, Dean was soon to pick up that his brother did not want to be let down, and even sooner was starting to get highly annoyed at having to carry his brother around.

Finally, nostrils flaring, Dean grit his teeth as he marched over to his bed, Sam tucked against his chest, making weird grunting noises.

Maneuvering the two of them onto the bed without jostling his brother too much was threatening to make Dean snap, but he only just managed to get on without blowing. And once he did, it was like things decided to start looking up again.

With a book in front on one side of him, Sam was content to curl up against Dean’s other side, granted so long as he kept his arm around his brother the entire time he read the book over and over again until Sam finally fell asleep.

Soon as Dean noticed that, he stopped reading, letting the book fall to his side as he reclined his head back on the pillows, sighing. His voice was hoarse, and as he closed his eyes, he realized how tired his eyes were as well.

That was the last coherent thought Dean had before he fell asleep too.

* * *

There were many other flashes after that, Dean knew. Almost always around his brother – it just didn’t work right on his dad, had a bad tendency to backfire spectacularly actually – then there was that one memorable time with a girl at this one gas station, his cheery smile quite literally contagious, a victim that wouldn’t stop sobbing who graciously left Dean in a funk for the rest of the day… Flagstaff…

He’d always tried to distract himself from that particular memory with other thoughts… but then Sam turned eighteen, and hence, his own adult for all a passerby would care.

If Dean ever had to choose one word to describe that night, he could only ever go for ‘clusterfuck.’ Because that’s what it had been. John’s rage on one end, the whirlwind of emotions that was his brother on the other…

Dean spent that night hunched over the toilet. The ensuing nausea and headache didn’t begin to abate until a week and a half after the whole thing. And still, there were times when Dean would remember the jarring sound of a door slamming, his ears would ring, and from the other room, a drunken John would start bellowing.

It was like this feedback on loop. And Dean didn’t know what to do about it.

There was this sick feeling in his gut that made Dean wonder if his dad knew there was something wrong with him. Because they’d barely stuck together for long before he as taking off on his own, not even looking Dean in the goddamn eye when he said he’d decided it was time Dean could take care of hunts himself.

Dean wasn’t sure what to do when he could feel the guilt in his own stomach. Guilt from lying, and it most certainly wasn’t him saying anything at that time.

But once they went on their own ways?

Blissful silence. It was like, for the first time in twenty two years, Dean suddenly realized… he wasn’t overwhelmed with emotions. Emotions he never could even begin to decipher, too confused with the abrupt abundance appearing out of nowhere, they were all gone. He couldn’t feel a damn thing – except for the fact that he was _light._ His chest wasn’t churning, neither was his gut, the constant buzz in his brain that would have driven Dean to insanity long ago had he not gotten used to the headaches – all gone. Hell, for the first time in ages, Dean could listen to just the wind blowing through the windows, and everything was quiet. None of the discomfort, one either muttering it was still damned hot, or another yelling how cold it was.

He’d tried turning on his music. All he could hear was the music.

Dean raised the volume. And when the only sound that threatened to tear his eardrums into pieces was still the stereo, Dean smiled.

He was abandoned, left all alone to wander with no sense of direction, not a word of comfort except for the occasional texts his dad sent. But for the time being, Dean let himself sink into the beautiful silence.

* * *

Dean didn’t think he’d ever get enough of the silence in his head, the weightlessness in his chest. With the amount of times he’d encounter random passersby and got dumped into a seesaw of emotions, retreating to his motel or even the Impala suddenly became a lot more significant for him to get a proper balance of things.

And for the first time, Dean could relish in the motions he was able to recognize as his own. His stomach was grumbling? Dean was hungry. He had a headache? Dean had been researching for too long, time to take a break. For the first time, Dean could actually understand and claim ownership to the emotions within him, and frankly speaking, it was exhilarating. Sure, there were some victims who he had to speak to that still left Dean feeling morose when he had to salt and burn whatever remains the unwitting sister tried to keep in memory of the ghost in her room, but it wasn’t like it was anywhere close to the intensity of John or Sam’s emotions.

Dean managed to enjoy it while it lasted, but maybe he’d gotten too lax with the comforts his mind had provided without the constant barrage of emotions, because the next time a simple salt and burn case went down, it _crashed._

* * *

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon you useless piece of–” the lighter finally clicked, just as the ghost rushed at him. Not even daring to waste another millisecond, Dean let the lighter fall into the open grave.

The ghost stopped, millimeters away from Dean, its fingers grazing his chest, cold seeping through his layers, before it screamed.

And Dean screamed along with it as she burst into flames in front of him, throwing her head back as the fire engulfed her.

Eyes rolling back into his head, Dean fell back into the still burning grave.

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Honestly, if there was one sound Dean wished he couldn’t be able to recognize, it had to be a heart monitor. Sure, the damn things were helpful to tell if someone was dead yet, but when it was hooked onto him?

“Mr. Pearson?”

Dean opened his eyes, blurry vision making him close them again when all he could see was white. Blinking blearily, he tried again, still unsure if he was seeing clearly when he looked up into the face of a wizened old man, his face pale and hair white and straggly. Frankly, the man leaning over him wearing a doctor coat looked more like a patient in disguise rather than Dean’s doctor. But hey, so long as he didn’t belong in the morgue yet…

“Yeah, that’s me.” Dean rasped. “What’m’I in for?” He barely refrained from adding a ‘now.’

The doctor frowned behind his – big surprise – tiny ass glasses. Dean couldn’t believe those were actually a thing. “Severe burns, Mr. Pearson. If you’re feeling up to it, I have a couple of officers here who would like to question what you were doing beside a… opened grave on fire.”

Ah, shit.

Dean took a quick glance around. As far as he could see, he was hooked up to the usual machines, and sure, the IV would be a bitch to take out but…

His eyes linger a little further downward, Dean internally groaned. The IV was nothing compared to a handcuff.

If there wasn’t anything lying around.

Dean looked back to the doctor, careful to keep his face as impassive and uncaring as possible. “Sure, doc. Send ‘em in whenever they’re ready,” he said, tossing the doctor a cheeky grin.

Unimpressed, the doctor huffed before abruptly leaving the room. He didn’t notice Dean already yanking the IV out the second his back was turned, and apart from a grimace of pain, Dean didn’t make a single attention garnering noise as he shoved the pin into the lock mechanism of the handcuffs.

It was only when he was sneaking around the back of the hospital that Dean had to wonder where the impound would be. If there was even a single scratch on his Baby…

* * *

Baby was fine. Dean was not. The doctor hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said Dean was in for severe burns. Worst part was, Dean couldn’t even reach the damn wounds, not at least until he’d gotten a few states away. By then, the burning urge to itch between his shoulder blades told Dean he’d probably gotten infected by the time he stepped into a tiny ass clinic.

It was when Dean was getting his back doused in whatever infection treatment liquid they used to make sure his muscles wouldn’t stop screaming in pain anytime soon that Dean took a moment to just stop and think. Or, well. Because thinking was out of the question at the moment, he forced himself to list out the facts.

For example, fact number one. Dean had always been able to feel other people’s… well. Emotions. And as much as Dean despised the idea of putting it that way, there really was no other way to come out and say it, was there?

Fact number two. Dean had been able to a certain extent, manipulate other people’s emotions. There were exceptions, like dad, but there was Sam… And okay, there was only ever Sam, and now that Dean thought about it, he wasn’t sure even that could classify – as his little brother, Dean had always known what to do to keep Sammy happy, so surely that couldn’t go into his list?

Dean sighed. Fact number two point five, Dean could sort of manipulate his brother’s emotions, but it was up for debate.

Fact number three, other people’s emotions could affect Dean. Such as the uncertainty in the doctor currently treating Dean was making Dean very nervous. But the doctor just smiled – not very reassuringly either – and continued to grab at random stuff from the table beside him.

Swallowing, Dean came up with the more important fact just yet. Fact number four. Apparently, ghosts could affect Dean as well, and that – that, was going to hinder Dean from hunting. A weakness, as dad would say, and if he didn’t manage to figure things out soon…

Fact number five. As soon as the doctor was done bandaging Dean up, he would very resolutely not punch the guy in return, and high tail it out of here to someone who knew what the fuck was wrong with Dean.

* * *

So, technically, Dean may have been lying when he decided he had to go to some _one_ who had answers. But the library was just as good of a substitute, surely. If Sam could get research on practically on anything from the dustiest corners of the library, then Dean could find a book or article on what was up with him.

And he did. But that was the good news. The bad news, was that what he found wasn’t exactly helpful. Unless Dean decided to just give up on the whole idea of reality and accept that even he was a supernatural being. It wasn’t a very positive thought, but Dean tried to focus on the fact that so long as he didn’t go munching on people’s brains, he didn’t have to shoot himself anytime soon. He hoped. Either way, Dean was now Obi Wan, and he’d never thought he’d have to even consider shooting Obi Wan.

* * *

Her name was Abby, and she was an Elemental. Dean wished that meant that she was a member of some super cool rock band that Dean was lucky enough to meet, and maybe more, but nope. She could talk to animals, and Dean didn’t dare question her further after he saw the hamster dropping sugar cubes into his coffee. Smiling – grimacing – at the hamster, he took the cup into his hands, and that’s as close as it got to his mouth.

“I know we aren’t exactly… the same,” Dean started out hesitantly, glancing at the monkey atop Abby’s head. The monkey stared back.

“Yes, I’m guessing you aren’t able to talk to Martin here?” Abby asked, a pale and dainty hand reaching up to stroke the monkey’s arm. Whether or not monkeys could actually grin, Dean didn’t know, but this monkey certainly was.

“Uh. No?” Dean tried, before shaking his head. “No, I, uh. I don’t know about communication, but I’m more of the… feelings type?” Dean said, and immediately tasted puke on his tongue. There was no way Dean actually said that.

Much to his gratification, Abby didn’t seem too unperturbed by his choice of wordings. If anything, she only brightened considerably, and rather abruptly to Dean’s alarm. “Oh!” She exclaimed, straightening so fast that the monkey had to grab onto her wild brown hair to stay seated. Abby didn’t even wince. “An empath!”

Next thing Dean knew, he’d somehow unofficially signed up for classes to learn how to harness his inner peace.

At this rate, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he could eventually make the ocean split under a single command, with how his life was turning out.

Of course, if he actually did, he’d just as soon end up walking right into the ocean before dad could tell him to do the same anyway.

* * *

He stayed for two weeks in Nowheresville, Oklahoma, before he got the text. For the first time, Dean felt a hint of irritation – his own – rather than relief to receive a message from his dad. Even if it was just coordinates, he’d been glad to at least get the notice that his dad was still alive and kicking, somewhere out there. But now, there was a tiny bit of resentment within Dean as he packed his bags, Abby’s lips pursed as she watched from the bedroom doorway.

“You could always visit,” she tried.

Dean smiled at her, as plastic as the rest of the mask on his face. She saw right through it anyway, smiling sadly as she pulled her kimono cardigan tighter around herself. “At least keep in touch.” She said.

Breathing deeply, Dean zipped up his duffle bag, hoisting it onto one shoulder in a smooth motion. Striding forward, he cupped her cheek with a hand, and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Thank you,” he said, when he pulled away, their foreheads touching. Both their eyes closed, he felt her nod against him, her face still in his hold.

“Call me.”

Swallowing, Dean left Nowheresville, Oklahoma, to Jefferson City, Missouri. He had a werewolf to hunt, and some newfound abilities to test out.

* * *

Dad wasn’t even in Jefferson City. Hell, Dean wouldn’t have been surprised if dad wasn’t even in the state. He didn’t let that deter himself, though. As soon as he got himself checked in, he’d made a grab for the local newspaper, immediately circling the victims and looking up their details. It was only after he’d amassed enough information to decide he deserved a lunch break, Dean gave himself a moment.

So far, Abby’s idea of a ‘basic’ lesson had been helping. As much as Dean hated to say it, reaching into himself to find his zen, to find _himself,_ and to be able to differentiate who he was versus everyone else intruding in his mind? That little bout of self discovery was what helped Dean to begin building a wall from there so that he wouldn’t be constantly pestered with other’s emotions or thoughts. Easy said, easy done? Hah. No.

Still, he managed to figure it out eventually, and thank god, because when he went into the local diner, the place was crowded. For a moment, Dean wasn’t entirely sure if he’d read the signs wrong and walked into a bar instead. But no, he was still in an overly crowded diner, and for once, Dean wasn’t immediately struck with an excruciating headache. Hell, he wasn’t even swaying with the force of all the undeniable swirl of emotions, but remained standing firm and strong as he veered straight to the front of the diner.

Keeping in mind Abby’s words, he let his face pull into an easy grin as a waitress approached him. Imagining a door materializing in his wall, he let it crack open, only enough to let a two-way interference enabled between him and the blonde he was quick to identify as Maria, according to her nametag anyway.

“Hey there, hotstuff. What can I get ya?” She smacked her gum loudly, holding a notepad and pencil in her ready hands. It was at complete odds with her utter boredom that was seeping through the door in Dean’s mind, tinged only with the barest interest in Dean’s appearance. Apparently, even he wasn’t enough to turn a lesbian completely straight. Dean internally shrugged. Not that he minded, but all he needed to know was that Abby’s minimal lessons were proving fruitful. And Dean would be damned if he couldn’t go with just that.

Leaning back in his chair, letting his posture more relaxed and open, he focused on pinning his unrelenting gaze right on her eyes instead. He didn’t really need to read much into her mind to figure out that checking her out was only going to lead him smack into a dead end.

“I was thinking the best pie you had,” Dean pulled out his wallet, laying down money that more than easily covered just a slice of pie. “And some information, if you don’t mind.”

* * *

Finding the werewolf after that was easy – way too easy. There was a moment of frustration that passed over Dean as he wondered why he hadn’t bothered to learn about himself sooner, because the way the werewolf stuck out with its canine thoughts in stark contrasts to actual humans and dogs? It was insane, that’s what it was, which Dean mused over as he pulled out his gun, the familiar weight in his hands reassuring him of its loaded chambers. He rounded the corner of the abandoned warehouse – always abandoned warehouses, why couldn’t Dean be led into a nicely lit, well furnished home for once? – just as the werewolf lunged out of seemingly nowhere. For a split second, Dean lost control. He was himself, ready to shoot, fear and anticipation striking him motionless – stupid, _stupid,_ you never freeze, you always act – but then he was the werewolf, looking down at himself as he prepared to sink his teeth into flesh, feel the warm blood spurt around his muzzle as his snout instinctively went for the beating heart –

Dean pulled the trigger. His world erupted into a flurry of colors as he felt the bullet tear through his own heart, eroding away at surrounding skin, flesh and nerves as it struck deep into the werewolf’s heart. Everything though, turned black inside his head and out of it as the werewolf collided into him anyway, bringing them both down into the floor. The last thing Dean could feel that wasn’t his heart being pierced quite literally, was claws embedding deep into his skin.

Dean let out a roar of pain – or maybe it was the werewolf, he would never know as he was soon unconscious.

* * *

He’d had enough of the supernatural world getting one over him in ways that other hunters normally wouldn’t have to worry about for themselves. Which was the entire reasoning behind Dean studiously ignoring his dad’s texts as he went on a well-deserved, and frankly, much needed sabbatical to get the information and _training_ Dean knew he needed. If dad knew or found out, Dean knew there was only the slightest chance that he would get out of it alive, much less disowned completely. But he managed, somehow rerouting other hunters as he went to a man named Lou. The Hawaiian dude was just as eccentric as Abby, Dean didn’t need the reassurance that the two were friends, but he took it anyway as he began his training.

Dean wondered vaguely if he’d ever be able to watch Star Wars the same again.

* * *

Dad had to be punishing him. He must have found out that Dean wasn’t the one doing the hunts he’d been sending his way, or maybe he found out why – that train of thought only made Dean nauseous, so he tried not to linger on it for long. But there was no other possible reason as to why he wasn’t answering his phone. Desperately, Dean tried calling again one more time. Getting his dad’s voicemail for the umpteenth time that day, Dean threw his cell into the footwell of the passenger seat with no small amounts of frustration. He hated this, every cell in his body was warring with each other, and still, it was that confliction that had Dean turning his car westwards. He may have gotten a better control of himself, but his dad was always going to be the unaccounted for variable. And as much as Dean hated to admit it, who better to bring in than the one man who was quite possibly the closest to John Winchester himself?

Gritting his teeth, Dean let the lull of the road silence his thoughts completely.

* * *

Pensive. Alert. Anxious. Wariness. Steel resolve. Dean hid in the shadows, his eyes closed yet moving rapidly as he thumbed through the intense emotions quick to change within his brother as he drew closer. Never having the chance beforehand to work with another hunter after he actually learned what he could do with his mind, it was almost fascinating to see how predator like their minds became at the time of hunting down their prey. Animal-like, actually, and it was also rather thrillingly scary as well.

Nonethematter, however, because Dean wasn’t worried. He was just as much the prey at this moment as he was the predator, which came to light when he jumped Sam.

Fear and anger, the urge to _protectfightmaimdefend_ was yelling at Dean in the face with the close proximity to Sam. It was practically a baseball bat to his brain had he not been able to shield himself from his brother’s mind and maintain the wall dividing them into the two different people they were. And that allowed him to feel faintly amused as he finally pinned Sam on his back.

“Woah, easy, tiger.” He grinned, slightly out of breath – his brother staring up in disbelief, backed up by the emotion radiating from him, as loud as the tone it carried in his voice.

“Dean?” His brother was breathing a lot harder, Dean smug at that, relishing the fact that he was finally with his brother, despite the darker undertones – _wrongnoleavegonewhy’sheheregoawayno_ – he was with his family. His brother, who he missed so much no matter how much he tried to avoid thinking about that. The laugh that bubbled out of him was more than slightly manic, and yet, Sam didn’t notice. Because now, his enragement was starting to overwhelm every other emotion in Sammy’s mind, and it had Dean struggling to get a control on his mind – and the part of Sam that was slipping into him – again.

“You scared the crap out of me!” Sam exclaimed, and for a second, Dean got distracted, let the outward appearances trick him into grinning just as hard, picking up where he’d fallen slack as he retorted seemingly without a care in the world.

“That’s ‘cause you’re out of practice.”

A flicker of annoyance, that younger brother’s need to prove his brother wrong, and the next thing he knew, it was Dean pinned to the floor this time. It hurt, there was no denying it, especially when it slipped out of his own voice as he grunted, “or not.”

Pride, and then back to anger, the flame set to a low simmer warning Dean.

He didn’t tip Sam off though, which is entirely why he didn’t stop himself from flirting with Sam’s girlfriend – and, wow, that was going to need to take some time to wrap his head around. Sammy, his little brother had a girlfriend – despite the disgust and wariness emanating from Jessica and the anger heating up from behind him had Dean wanting to gag.

He knew, had a strong feeling, that it was going to be an emotion he was going to be around for the next few days if he didn’t completely cut his brother out of his head. Despite knowing how now, Dean wasn’t sure he could do that. He grew up with the kid’s mind in his own, he didn’t know if he would be able to look at his brother and see what anyone else, what everyone else saw.

Dean kept telling himself he was going to back off, to cut it out. Slamming Sam against the metal beam of a bridge, he almost did too, if his car hadn’t started on its own at the moment, an odd aura radiating from it that clued Dean immediately that no, his car hadn’t genuinely become sentient on its own.

Jess going up in flames had Dean on a standstill, mind frozen in horror as his subconscious lost track of what it needed to do.

For some goddamn reason, he found himself pulling his mind away when Sam tossed the shotgun back into the trunk, the action too final, too decisive.

“We got work to do.”

The comfort, the sympathetic support Dean wished into existence within his body, withered and died away as Sam got into the car, the slamming of his car door a resolute bang within his own head as well.

Swallowing, Dean followed. Never before had he felt so far away from Sam than in that moment.

* * *

He managed to keep Sam from finding out that he was different. It wasn’t easy though. Too many times, Dean had come this close to slipping, to unintentionally neutralizing Sam whenever he seemed this close to letting loose on a quest for blood. On monsters, sure, but still. It felt like tripping every time it happened, Dean aiming for that last step that had always been there, but wasn’t now. Sam as a kid wouldn’t have noticed anything was too off, helped by the fact that Dean was completely oblivious too. But adult Sam with some time at Stanford under his belt? Dean wasn’t going to risk a thing, and sure, it meant quite literally backtracking at times, much to Sammy’s confusion, but he relentlessly went on, pretending like there was nothing freaky about him in the first place. Thank whoever cared to listen to Dean, but it worked. And he stupidly let himself ride the high of that only to come to a spectacular crash when they met with their dad.

Sam was ecstatic. And furious, but Dean was as familiar with that as he was with the leather seats of Baby.

Dad was… guarded. Frighteningly so, because Dean realized he couldn’t sense a thing from him. It immediately had alarm bells going off in his head, but before he could agonize over it further, the daeva attacked them again.

It felt like seconds and eternities later simultaneously, that Dean was left watching his father leaving them to bite his proverbial dust. The shaky feeling his father was oh so courteous to leave behind however, refused to go away.

* * *

When they met with their dad again, sufficed to say, everything about it caught Dean off guard. Starting with the fact that he hadn’t even been aware that his dad had approached them – he wasn’t sure he ever would get used to the complete blankness emanating from his dad. He was cloaked in a way that had Dean’s mind sliding right over his dad’s presence. It was absolutely different from the way Dean chose to withdraw himself from Sam’s presence of mind.

The amusement was the other thing. For all Dean could tell, the laughter tugging up the edges of dad’s lips, slightly unusual to see for a man forever grim, was as real as it could get in the face of Dean’s surprise. Dean had a feeling, if Sam wasn’t stunned as well he’d have been laughing at Dean too.

The relief but then otherworldliness tired that settled over their dad not too soon after that? Dean was much more used to the second one, but the first… he wasn’t sure what to make of that. He figured so long as his dad wasn’t saying or otherwise insinuating anything… then Dean wouldn’t do anything either.

* * *

When dad did say something, though, it had to be when Dean couldn’t do anything, literally.

* * *

“Before dad died, he. He told me something – something about you.” He wasn’t surprised he stumbled over his words. He was surprised however, that Sam didn’t catch his stumble to specify. Dean wasn’t going to look a gift horse in its mouth, though.

“What?” Sam prompted, when Dean got lost in his thoughts. “Dean, what did he tell you?”

 _‘He told me he knew,’_ Dean thought, but didn’t dare to utter aloud. _‘He told me he knew what was up with me, and that if I had a lick of common sense, if I cared to remember anything he taught, I should only use my freakiness to–’ “_ He said that he wanted me to watch out for you, to take care of you.”

_“You look inside that boy’s head, and you make sure he stays out of trouble, you got me, Dean?”_

“He told you that a million times.”

_“Dad, I–”_

“No. This time was different. He said that I have to save you.”

“Save me from what?”

_“You make sure he stays out of trouble, you do whatever it takes – whatever it takes, understand?”_

“He just said that I had to save you, that nothing else mattered. And that if I couldn’t, I’d…”

“You’d what, Dean?”

 _“And so help me god, but that means you gotta make sure if keeping him safe means putting him down, then son, you’re gonna put him down before it all goes wrong. No matter what. You’re gonna put a bullet through his head, even if it’s the last thing_ you _do.”_

“That I’d have to kill you.” Looking into Sam’s eyes, Dean did the one thing he’d swore to himself he wouldn’t do. “He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy.”

He opened his mind, and let his brother’s presence sink in in a way he hadn’t dared to in the past year.

* * *

“For the last few weeks, I’ve been having… I’ve been having these feelings.”

Dean sat across his brother. As much as he wanted to, he still knew his brother wasn’t talking about the rainbows and roses type, so it was with no small amounts of dread that he prodded Sam to go on.

“Rage. Hate. And I can’t stop it. It just gets worse. Day by dad, it gets worse.”

Swallowing, Dean nodded. He knew he was responding, working on autopilot at this point, but Sam’s words were becoming muggy to his ears, Dean only distantly registering them enough to reply, but his mind was elsewhere. More specifically, it was directed right to the person across from him, and Dean let himself slip in.

“Who I’m meant to be. I mean, you said it once yourself, Dean. I gotta face up to who I am.”

_It was dark inside. Sam’s mind was oozing blackness, and a shudder of disgust had Dean forcing the bile back down before he threw up in front of his oblivious brother._

“Dean, you promised him. You promised me.”

_Whispers, furious whispers was raining down on Dean. Losing focus on his intent to find the core of his brother – something he never tried to do, never thought he would have to, but for Sammy’s sake – except–_

_He was bombarded. The whispers were increasing in volume, yet still Dean couldn’t make out a single coherent sentence as it crushed him. He wasn’t going to get out of this headache, but he closed his eyes, trying hard to just listen…_

“I can’t. I’d rather die.”

_‘Kill, kill, kill, KILLKILLKILLKILL-’_

Dean’s body shuddered, jerking him forward. Going with the flow, he dimly let go of the gun, and walked forward, trying to get past his brother, away from this, away from whatever the hell was going on – 

Roughly knocking into his brother, a tendril, a wave of something else creeping into him had Dean coming to a halt.

That. That… sensation right there, he knew what it was, had sensed it before…

“No. You’ll live.” Sam’s voice behind him sounding off, apologetic, yet wrong, had Dean turning around. “You’ll live to regret this.”

It hit Dean then, where exactly and _what_ exactly had made Dean feel that particular way, enough to have him shivering in a desperate need to go submerge himself in holy water. It was at the exact same moment that Sam whipped the pistol, bringing it to the side of Dean’s head.

He was out before he could even form the words out in his head.

* * *

“So, how did you know? That he was possessed?”

“Uh,” _black slime oozing out of Sam’s unconscious, reeking of sins and fire and hell’s pits_ “Ah. I didn’t. I just knew that it couldn’t have been him.”

* * *

“By the way. I saw your dad there. He says ‘howdy.’”

Pain erupting like a fiery blaze wrecking its way through a forest had Dean groaning, desperately trying to pull the demon’s hand away from his bullet wound.

“All that I had to hold onto, was that I would climb out one day, and that I was going to torture you. Nice and slow. Like pulling the wings off an insect.” With a disgusted look briefly passing over Sam’s face, the demon pushed Dean’s flailing hands away. “But whatever I do to you, it’s nothing compared to what you do to yourself, is it? I can see it in your eyes, Dean. You’re worthless. All you’ve got to hold onto is that maybe, just maybe, you’re not a complete freak. A monster,” the demon sneered as its fingers sank in further into Dean’s flesh. He moaned as blood started trickling down his arm. “Maybe, you’re not completely hopeless if you could do something about your screwed up head to save your family, but the truth is, you couldn’t save your dad. And deep down,” Meg laughed nastily. “You know that you can’t save your brother. They’d have been better off without you, if anything. So, remind me again, Dean,” Meg grinned, Sam’s face split apart in a way that Dean knew was only going to end up in his box of nightmares to revisit later. It didn’t stop him from glaring back, pouring every ounce of hate he could muster into it. “Where does that leave you?”

Meg reared back, and for a second, Dean could only let his eyes flutter close despite himself, preparing himself for the next inevitable punch, when he suddenly felt Meg being pulled back. He focused back on what was happening in front of himself to see Bobby pressing a hot poker against the mark on Sam’s arm.

Sam screamed, his voice distorting from the demon’s to his own as Meg finally left his body.

* * *

Tension was thick in the air. Dean didn’t need to be a friggin’ empath to figure that one out, but still. He was, and it only made his senses feel more clogged up as Sam tried to test the waters, stressing Dean out further when all he could think about, all he could focus on was Bobby’s intense stare pinned on Dean.

Every part of him screamed for Bobby to not say a word. Hell, Dean even ignored his conscience, the part of him that forbade him from messing with others he was actually close to, to gently nudge Bobby into saving whatever he for sure had ready at the tip of his tongue for later. He could always dodge out of the conversation from there so long as it was postponed in the first place.

Of course, luck was never really on the Winchesters’ side.

Right at the door, Dean turned around, only enough to toss the iceback back to Bobby. Nothing more, nothing less. He should have known the old coot would have taken advantage of that small window anyway.

“Dean.” Freezing, Dean scrunched his eyes shut, jaw clenching in regret. A terse second passed before he let himself turn around to face Bobby properly. “You know you’re gonna have to talk about it.” Bobby said. He didn’t look imposing, or even… dare Dean say it, mad. But a quick glimpse in his mind that Dean knew he’d feel all the more guilty about later only served to confirm that his words weren’t exactly a suggestion either.

Dean nodded, the movement stiff and jerky. “Yeah. I know.” He glanced at Bobby one last time. “I know.”

Without another word he left, the discussion dropped permanently for all Dean cared.

* * *

Dean should have taken the hint when he could have. Except, he really couldn’t, and so didn’t. He really wanted to say he wasn’t at fault, there simply was no time for him to come clean like Bobby told him to, like he should have done… but instead, he got caught up in the mess that was their life, trying to keep Sam safe, and then selling his soul when he failed at that. So the whole, ‘I’m about to die, and oh yeah, before I go I just thought you should know I’m an empath,’ didn’t sit well with Dean. Which left Sam to find out himself because of yet another demon.

Dean really should have figured out that when demons were involved, and going by how their lives were, on a regular basis, one of them was going to slip the word sooner or later to his brother. That still didn’t prepare him for it actually happening though, as much as he should have been ready for it.

* * *

All Dean could think of was Sam, he had to get Sam. The shotgun was ready in his hands, and he barely managed to slow down long enough to kick the door open. He was moving as soon as his foot hit the ground again, and surging inside, his eyes landed on Sam. His brother was pinned, the wall behind him actually crumbling behind him under the force of the demon’s power, but he was alive. He took it in in a fraction of a second, already turning towards the demon, but it was still too late, he only just caught side of the demon flicking her other hand towards him, throwing him over a sofa. Exhaling heavily, he pushed himself back up, and then went flying backwards again as the demon flung him again, this time pinning him to the wall like with Sam.

“Two for one,” the demon murmured, coming closer to Sam and Dean until she was standing in between them. “Lovely.” She looked between Sam and Dean, before fixing her gaze on Dean, her eyes narrowing as she drew closer.

“Well, I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Dean Winchester in the flesh himself,” she exclaimed. A foreboding shadow started to edge in on the corners of Dean’s vision.

“Random ass demon,” Dean acknowledged in return, nodding with a grin that was more of a grimace on his face.

The demon scoffed. “I’ve heard about you down there. Lots of talk reserved just for you Dean.”

He knew he shouldn’t, but when did that stop Dean’s mouth from running anyway? “Oh, yeah? Lemme guess, they talk about how much they just love it when I sent them screaming back to hell.” He snarked.

The demon chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, you’d think you know wouldn’t you?” The demon dropped all facades of a smile as she stepped closer, her hand still reaching outwards to Dean. He groaned as a phantom hand on his throat materialized, squeezing. “Tell me, Dean. How much do you think it would hurt you specially in hell, hm? Man who feels what other people feel, tear away his inhibitions, how much more… _torturous_ would it be for him in hell, hm?”

Ice cold tendrils wrapped around his guts, Dean was all too aware of Sam staring at them with laser precision focus. “I have no idea what you’re talking about–”

“But you do.” The demon cut him off, crooning as she took one last step forward, bringing her flush against Dean’s body. Dean desperately craned his neck away from her, straining when his muscles refused to comply with his demands to get away from the filthy skank. “And I’ll tell you this, Dean,” she dropped her chin to his ear, so that her voice was directly in his ear when she spoke. She didn’t bother to lower her tone much, however, so Dean knew without a doubt that Sam could still hear every word. “I’m gonna be there just to make sure you really get to experience hell’s personal treatment,” she hissed.

The ice clenched his guts into a slushee, just as another voice cut in.

“Wait.” Ruby said.

* * *

Sam didn’t say anything until they were speeding away from the city. Dean kept his grip tight on the steering wheel, Sam’s inner turmoil creating a pulsating migraine to erupt right behind Dean’s eyeballs.

It was when they were several miles down the freeway that Sam spoke up.

“What did she mean?”

Shifting in his seat, Dean could only briefly glance at his brother from the side of his eyes before he was looking back on the road. “What’re you talking about?”

“When she said that you can feel what others feel, Dean. What did she mean by that?”

“Like I said, I don’t know man. Demons lie an–”

“No, don’t give me that shit. You and I both know she wasn’t lying there. So tell me what she meant when she said she’d make sure you got to ‘experience hell’s personal treatment.’”

Sam was glaring at him, had even angled himself so that his torso was facing Dean from his passenger seat.

A mile went by without a word escaping from either of their mouths. Sam did not relent though, and Dean knew he would have been happy enough to wait for as long as it took for Dean to break.

His fingers tightened, loosened, and then tightened again, sweat sticking his skin to the leather. “What do you know about empaths?” Dean asked, his voice tight.

Sam frowned. Dean knew that him giving in sooner than Sam expected had turned his brother for a loop, confusing him further with the seemingly random subject change. But Sam was nothing but smart, and he would put the pieces together soon enough.

“Empaths – they’re what the term implies. They can sense the emotions others are going through, can immerse themselves in it and get the literal ability to relate, and in some extreme cases can even manipulate people’s emotions.” Sam listed off. Dean almost rolled his eyes – closed his eyes as a precursor to the action too, but he was too stressed out to be any further amused by his brother’s forever innate ability to quote random textbooks from heart.

“Right. Well, there you have it. That’s what she meant.” Dean said briskly.

“What do you–” Sam stopped. The passenger seat was a suffocating hurricane of confusion, disbelief, frustration, hesitance, a deep-rooted sense of grief –  _he was already mourning_ – before it settled on something blank. Waiting for confirmation with a strange sense of dread before he could jump to anything further. “Are you telling me you’re an empath?” Sam said.

Dean swallowed.

From beside him, Sam shifted so that he wasn’t facing Dean anymore, seated to face the road instead. His face was blank, before Sam let out a laughter filled with the disbelief pouring out. Dean winced at the harsh sound of it.

“I can’t believe – how long have you known?”

His finger twitching on the wheel, Dean inhaled. “After you left.” He eventually bit out. “For Stanford,” as if he needed to clarify, “dad left soon afterwards, saying we could hunt on our own and… I noticed it was just. Silent in my head, you know? Didn’t take me long to realize I needed to actually learn to deal with it if I wanted to keep hunting though.” He said humorlessly.

Sam nodded tersely, the movement visible from Dean’s peripherals. “Deal with it?” He prompted.

Dean let his head lean back a little, wishing for a brief second for a headrest just so that he would have something to be able to hit his head with in frustration. As it was, he could only force himself to pour everything out through the steering wheel and accelerator, letting his Baby crunch up the miles faster with each strain of tension that had Dean pressing his foot a little further down.

“Ghosts, werewolves, other shit. Taking ‘em down, it always affected me. Widowed witnesses made me start bawling my eyes out as if I watched the soap operas they do with them, even if I was frustrated. I was starting to have trouble figuring out what was me and what… well. What wasn’t, I guess. So I poked around, did some research…” he left it open, waiting for Sam to take the branch, to jibe at him, but Sam remained steadfast in his silence, not letting Dean off the hook.

Dean shifted again, restless. “Anyway. Realized that I couldn’t tell what was up or down in my head, so I talked to coupl’a people who helped me figure out how to, sort of put a wall I guess. So that I could get my bearings, and then some other advanced shit…”

“When was this?” Sam spoke up. The sound of his voice, so sudden in the otherwise still air that Dean tried hard not to break, to go with, had Dean flinching, and this time when he glanced over at Sam, their gazes met before Dean broke it again. “When did you figure everything out?”

“Before I came to get you.”

“You knew–” Sam erupted, before he shut down. He was clearly trying to get a hold of himself, but that meant nothing for Dean when he could still feel his brother’s rage overwhelming him in its furious waves. “You knew for this long, and you never said a word to me?” Sam said stiffly, his nostrils flaring.

Dean shrugged, careful for all his contradictingly careless words. “Didn’t think I had to.”   
  
“Right,” Sam nodded, as trusting as Dean was of Ruby. “Right, okay. Have you ever messed with my head?”

Ah. Dean hummed, aware that with each second that passed without him replying only increased the danger of him finding himself in front of Baby’s wheels – which was currently going at eighty already, and wasn’t anywhere near slowing down either. “Define messing with your head.” He eventually said.

He didn't get decked. But it was still a near thing.

“Have you ever been inside my head, Dean.” Each word was slow and measured, and practically bit out. It practically spelled suicide at that moment for Dean, should he continue to avoid a direct answer. And contrary to popular belief, and a certain demon contract that was more than valid proof anyway, Dean wasn’t actively suicidal.

Much.

“I haven’t made you feel things you didn’t want to or something, if that’s what you’re asking.” Dean hedged. “Not… intentionally anyway. When we were kids and you wouldn’t stop crying? Yeah, I’ll admit I made you shut up because I didn’t know what else to do, how to make you stop. But I’ll for sure tell you I was not, at any time, consciously aware of what I was doing.”

Sam exhaled. “Okay. Fine,” he conceded, only to attack again without any reprieve. “But after we grew up?”

This time, it took far longer for Dean to respond. It did nothing to quell Sam’s increasing anger and impatience either.

“When dad told me I had to look after you… that wasn’t— he didn’t mean to look after you just like—like that.” He paused, uncertain how to proceed further. Thankfully, for once, Sam intervened, letting Dean relax by a margin.

“He told you to get in my head and make sure I didn’t go off the rails–”

“No, no! Just, no, Sammy. Even if dad did say that – which he didn’t – I wouldn’t – I wasn’t gonna do that. I… yeah. I mean. I got into your head, but not – never to mess with you or manipulate you or whatever.”

“You were looking in my head?” Sam asked, and yeah, he still didn’t sound very appeased. Like, at all.

“I wasn’t reading your thoughts, Sam.” Dean couldn’t help but retort heatedly. “Empath, not telepathic, remember.” He huffed. Now was not the time or situation for him to get angry, not when he was trying to appease Sammy. “I was more often than not getting a read on your damn emotions. Helped me know if I had to worry if you were gonna go chainsaw massacre on me. No more, no less.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Believe me, I know.” Dean said, and he finally allowed himself to turn around, solidly meeting Sam’s eyes. “Dad told me to look after you, and that’s all I was doing. I didn’t intrude on your privacy, hell, I didn’t even want to look inside your head. But after Jess?” Sam winced, a flare of pain, regret, misery. Dean went on. “I’m not gonna lie, there were moments when you were scaring me, Sammy. So, yeah.”

Sam didn’t say anything, and frankly, having run out of words to say himself, Dean didn’t say anything either. Two miles passed, three, and then Dean was reaching forward, turning on the radio. Music erupted from his speakers, and he was ready to drown himself, let the all too familiar sensation of floundering in sounds and thoughts and emotions to continue whirling away around him.

Sam didn’t say another word until three songs later.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He was staring straight out the windshield, not looking at Dean. But Dean didn’t need his brother to look him in the eyes to figure out what Sammy was apologizing for.

Nodding, Dean let his foot ease off the accelerator slightly.   


**Author's Note:**

> It does feel amazingly wonderfully awesome to get back in the zone of writing again, ill give you that, as mari can for sure testify (yeah were good in case y'all read that embarrassing meltdown of a fic YES I KNOW ITS 11 STOP GUILTRIPPING ME COMPUTER OK IM ALMOST DONE


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